


For the Long Haul

by anAshcalledYggdrasil



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M, Prophecy, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-18
Updated: 2017-11-22
Packaged: 2019-01-19 00:35:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12399459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anAshcalledYggdrasil/pseuds/anAshcalledYggdrasil
Summary: Merlin has had to deal with a lot in his life. His very, very long life. Unfortunately for him, it's not looking like it's going to get any easier. When he hears a familiar laugh he thought he'd never hear again, it triggers an event that causes him to lose control of his magic for the first time in over a hundred years, and he knows it's time to uproot his life once again, reinvent himself for the fiftieth time, find a new village to call home. What he doesn't count on is having this happen periodically for the next 1500 years...





	1. 737AD; Alfrec The Humble Pot Washer

200 years since Arthur's death, and Merlin was getting tired. Tired of waiting, tired of the same routine, tired of living. But there was nothing he would do except keep waiting, keep hoping for a time when Arthur marched back into his life. Kilgarrah had said it would happen, and Merlin clung to a sliver of hope, no matter how small it was. He could change his lifestyle, and he did, many times over, but he always got bored in the end, or had to move on when people started getting suspicious of how he aged.

He had to travel to stay protected, if his secret was to stay secret. It didn't take especially long before others started to suspect the man who aged so slowly you might think he didn't age at all. But Merlin could see it; he saw the first lines appear around his eyes, the first grey hair suddenly visible amongst the rest. That one hair had taken almost 200 years to grow in, and if he stayed in one place too long he knew he'd be tried for sorcery. So he travelled, reinventing himself in every new Kingdom or village. Word spread quickly as people gossiped though, and he had to be extremely careful to completely change his story between the places he settled. Sometimes, if he didn't plan to stay long, he'd make a potion to completely change his appearance, but it was exhausting to keep it up.

When Arthur had died in 537AD, Merlin had stayed near to Camelot for as long as he could bear it, offering advice to Gwen should she want it, and helping Gaius when he grew too old to manage by himself. When Gaius died however, he decided it was time to leave. It hadn't been sudden, the old physician had caught a disease from one of his patients, and he'd remained bed-bound for weeks. Merlin had looked after him, trying to nurse him back to health. He offered to use his magic, but Gaius had refused it, insisting that if it was his time, he was happy to go; he had lived a long life, and he left no regrets but that magic had not been brought back to Camelot.

So when Gaius was gone, Merlin was too. He'd arranged for a new physician to come to the castle, and he'd packed up the day after they arrived. He went wherever his feet took him, taking on the names of people from his village for a while or people he met on the way, until there came a place where he wanted to stop.

It didn't take long for the Saxons to return, and Merlin did nothing about it. They invaded Britain, and they stayed, bringing new ideas and a new language. Merlin lived a quiet life, working for food and lodge for some years, then when he felt like it, he uprooted and moved to a new place. He enjoyed his life, making friends wherever he went and having nothing holding him back from moving on until he found a place he might want to actually stay.

His routine was interrupted however, when the vision first came to him. At the time he was working quite contentedly as a pot-washer in an inn, and he got along well with the owners and other workers. They paid him a fair wage for the work he did, and he would always have a place to stay if he needed it. They knew him as Alfrec, a name he took from another traveller he had once met. The kitchen he worked in was modest; a fireplace in the far corner to keep the cold at bay, a paved floor, a simple window on the back wall above the sink, knives on racks hanging from the ceiling, bundles of vegetables and pots scattered along the work surfaces, and cheerful workers Merlin could honestly call friends.

The majority of his time was spent at the sink, scrubbing and piling for the drier to quickly wipe off the water and stack them away. He could see out the window, and the day that would shatter his life as it was boasted a bright evening sun beating tirelessly down onto the green grass around the town. There wasn't a wisp of a cloud in a sky or a whisper of wind to rustle the few trees he could see. It was a very pleasant summer's night ahead, in Merlin's opinion. He had just been handed another large pile of plates and bowls, and gave a good-natured sigh of resignation, coupling it with a grin.

"Nothing to be done, Al. You could always clear out the bedpans if you want a change of scenery!" Joked the young woman who cleared the tables.

"Er, no thanks." He replied, flashing her a grin, and set to work. The splash of each plate entering the water added to the general noise of the kitchen; the quiet, cheery undertones of chatter, the sound of metal against wood as food was prepared, the clatter of plates being put down ready to be taken out to customers. The customers themselves were rowdy and loud, audible through the stone walls and door that opened and closed every time food was taken out. 

But it was familiar and sometimes the staff would even join in singing when they played well known songs. Merlin smiled to himself as he washed up, letting his thoughts wonder far and wide. Drifting through the briefly open door came a laugh he'd known a very long time ago, and he paused in his washing, straining to hear it again.

As if by magic, he was suddenly sitting by a campfire in the middle of a forest, stars twinkling high above, barely visible through the canopy. The plate that had been in his hands was gone, replaced with a mug of tea. There seemed to be tents nearby, and blurry figures shifted around the crackling fire, the low hum of their voices pleasant to his ears. He was warm, and stared peacefully into the flames, watching them dance before him. He whispered a spell, and sparks flew in the shape of a dozen butterflies. No one seemed to notice and he allowed himself a private grin. He didn't feel out of place here, as if it was where he was supposed to be, rather than in the inn's kitchen. Someone sat down next to him, but he didn't turn around. When the person spoke however, Merlin froze.

"You know, last night I had the weirdest dream." It was a voice he would never forget, and though he desperately wanted to turn around, he couldn't move, as if some unknown force held him captive. He filled with joy and disbelief, hoping beyond hope that this wasn't some trick, and he was hearing what he thought, or rather, who he thought. His eyes pricked with tears, and he let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

"Really?" He tried to say, but it came out as more of a croak. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Really?"

"You told me you were a sorcerer, and you made the sparks from the fire into a dragon."

Merlin's heart sank like a stone and his chest constricted painfully. "Oh? What happened then?" He said breathlessly, careful now to avoid looking at the newcomer, wondering if he was about to be sentenced to death.

"We went for a dragon ride, I fell asleep by a lake, and woke up freezing cold." He said, bemused. Merlin couldn't lift his lips to anything remotely resembling a smile, but he could hear one in Arthur's voice. He'd missed it so much he could hardly bear it. And then something snapped inside of him, releasing him from its grasp. He turned his head to face the man, tears shining in his eyes and wearing a smile that spoke volumes of the hope he felt, but all he saw was a fading after-image of a man with blond hair and a red shirt, white teeth flashing in a grin. 

His smile slipped slowly from his face and his heart shattered, much as it had two hundred years ago on the shore of the Lake of Avalon. His chest and eyes burned, and he could feel the warmth of the fire draining from his body. He'd missed that smile, those eyes, that face, more than words could say. He wished with all he had to spend just one more day with the man he loved. The man he had just seen fading right in front of him. He knew Arthur would never return, but still he hoped.

He closed his eyes in bitter disappointment, tears finally leaking from the corners and running down his cheeks. He didn't even notice. When he opened his eyes again he was stood back in the kitchen, and everybody was looking at him, though he wouldn't have been able to say what he'd done to warrant it. He could feel his hands shaking, and tried to steady his uneven breaths, but it wasn't working. He could feel himself starting lose control but could nothing to stop it.

"Al?" Asked a cook -a large, kindly man- tentatively. "Are...are you ok?"

Merlin gave a hollow laugh that lacked any trace of humour. His knuckles were white where he gripped the edge of the sink. He stared intently at a knot in the wood, trying to force back the tears and the fear that he was about to lose control of his magic for the first time since he had left Ealdor all those years ago. Taking another deep breath in a futile attempt to steady himself, he looked towards the man who had spoken. He had a thick black beard, with worry etched into every line on his aging face.

The kitchen was eerily silent, with all activity apparently having stopped to see if he was okay. The only sound was the customers in the next room. He wanted to tell them 'yes, of course I am, don't stop working on account of me, there are people to feed!' but he couldn't seem to find the words. A breeze rustled the trees outside and extended chilly finger through the glassless window to caress the back of his neck. He shivered, unsure if it was just from the cold or from what he'd just seen. Merlin realised he hadn't given a proper answer to the question.

"No." He said simply, and even just that one syllable shook. He could feel the pressure building inside himself, and knew he had to get out. The cook's frown deepened, and he took a step forward. Merlin held up a hand, panicked. "No!" He said again. "I...I need to leave." But it was too late. He remembered the flash of teeth from only a moment ago, and let out a hoarse groan of sorrow. His head started to pound, and when he tried to swallow he couldn't. It all became too much to bear, and he collapsed to his knees, letting go of everything.

The room around him exploded. Cutlery flew into the air, flour burst from the sacks against the walls, and people screamed, covering their faces with their arms. The hanging racks rattled and the floor shook in time with Merlin's heart-wrenching sobs. Plates cracked where they sat, a few slipping from the counters and shattering into pieces on the hard floor as water sloshed out of the sink, leaving puddles on the stone. Merlin knelt, hands covering his face, unaware of all that was going on around him.

"Alfrec!" He heard distantly. It didn't really register. The ground continued to shake slightly, and Merlin continued to hear nothing of what was happening across the kitchen. His breathing was short and erratic, his heart beating out of time and far too loud. "Alfrec!" The voice called again, more urgently, and closer. Merlin looked up blearily, tear tracks marring his cheeks, his vision blurry and his irises gold. He felt a hand on his shoulder, and looked to his right, where the cook stood looking down at him calmly. "I'm here for you, you can get through this." The brown eyes were compelling and Merlin willed himself to take back control. 

It was difficult. He felt like a tiny fish in a raging ocean, unable to find his bearings or make sense of much around him. He hadn't lost it in such a huge way for so long, and he wasn't sure he even could reel it back in.

But he tried. He tried as hard as he could to slow his heart, to compose himself and still his shaking fingers, to concentrate on the calm but firm grasp on his shoulder, staring into the eyes high above him. The sunlight reflected in them, turning them into pools of chocolate with deep gold flecks around the iris. He concentrated on the strength that was so obvious in those eyes, the shade shifting from umber to bronze and back again every time they blinked.

With more effort than he would ever have thought it would have taken, Merlin took a deep breath and stilled the quaking around him and inside him. He let the air out, stilling the flour still floating in the air so it looked like time had stopped. He never looked away from those eyes that seemed to lend him the strength he needed.

He took another breath and let everything being held still drop straight to the floor, covering everything in a layer of white powder. There was complete silence in the kitchen, but the rowdy noise from the main inn could still be heard leaking through the doorway, bawdy songs rising above all the chatter as the evening starting getting into full swing. Evidently the guests had noticed nothing.

"I'm so sorry." He whispered, finally looking away from the cook, instead taking in what he'd done to the kitchen. Plates were shattered and knives, forks, and spoons were scattered across the whole room. The hanging racks swayed slightly with residual energy, and the staff were standing up from where they'd taken cover, all with a light dusting of flour in their hair and on their clothes. All were staring at Merlin in shock tinged with a modicum of fear. His knees were starting to hurt against the uneven, freezing floor.

He took a shaky breath and stood, the cook finally letting go of his shoulder. "I'm sorry, I haven't lost control like that in a very long time." He looked at the cook, a contrite and apologetic expression on his face. He got a small nod of acceptance of the apology in return.

"Regrettable as it may be, I want no trouble with the authorities. I think it would be best if you leave." Merlin swallowed, a wave of exhaustion crashing over him. He closed his eyes and nodded demurely, taking off the apron he wore. "But er, any chance you could fix the plates before you do? We're expecting quite a full house tonight."

Merlin tried to smile, but doubted it came across as anything remotely resembling a smile at all. He looked down at the smashed and cracked plates, whispered a spell, and they fixed themselves. Another whisper had them flying into a pile on the counter, waiting to be washed and used again.

He left quietly after that, handing the apron to the cook on the way out. It was taken without a word, only the smallest smile of thanks and regret, and Merlin didn't look back as he went out the back entrance of the kitchen, beginning the lengthy walk back home.

He walked slowly, numb to everything around him. His head was still aching, and the dull thud of the earth against his soft leather shoes created a monotony that lulled his thoughts. It took perhaps half an hour to get home at the pace he took, and he was glad he knew the way so well. If he hadn't spent every ounce of energy he had on not breaking down again rather than watching the beaten dirt path that led to the edge of town, he had no doubts there would have been disastrous consequences.

He felt the heat from the early evening sun beating down on his exposed neck, felt every stone left on the path, heard the birds chirping in the trees in the hedges nearby. But nothing tugged him out of his reverie, and he paid no attention to anything on the road or around him. It was lucky no one was travelling into town, or they would have been more than likely to crash into one another.

When the stone walls and slanted thatched roof that Merlin called home came into view, he gave a sigh of relief and rubbed his face. He felt wetness from tears still falling down his cheeks, gone unnoticed as he walked. He reached his front door and pushed it open, grateful of the privacy home offered. Locks were rare, and only for the rich, which Merlin was far from being. It was a modest, typical house for peasants of the time; it would look rather like a barn to modern day people, with four falls, a slanting thatched roof, and no windows save for one by the door. It was a single room, and had a hearth in the centre with a smoke hole that could be covered when it rained to the left above it. It was simple, but was plenty for Merlin -it was more than he had had in Camelot.

Once inside, he shut the door and sank down against it, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to ignore everything. All he could see behind his lids was an afterimage of the hallucination or whatever the hell it was, as if it had been branded onto his retinas. He gave an angry cry and opened them again, staring through watering eyes at the wooden beams far above his head.

There was a wet snuffling at his right hand and he gave a shaky smile. "Hello, Balinor." He said quietly, his voice closer to a croak than anything else. He lifted his hand and stroked the dog's head slowly, letting the long fur run through his fingers. The animal's presence was the most calming thing that could have been there, and in less than ten minutes he felt more like himself than he had since leaving work. Balinor lay at his side, breathing steadily and looking up at Merlin with large brown eyes. His tail thumped gently on the hard earth floor, and Merlin sighed, leaning his head back against the door. His own breaths were coming easier, and a tightness in his chest he hadn't quite realised was there had faded a little. Dogs really were wonderful creatures.

"Well Bal, looks like we're going to be moving. Again." He added with a tinge of sorrow. Balinor whined quietly, and Merlin smiled. "I know, I liked it here too. But I wasn't careful enough, and now we have to move on." He said regretfully to the border collie. He was trained as a herding dog, useful for if they stopped at a farm for a while to work, and otherwise made a good companion on the road. Whenever possible, Merlin enjoyed having a dog with him; it stopped him brooding too much over his apparent immortality by giving him a playful distraction and reason to keep on going.

He knew the others at work wouldn't report him for what he'd done, but he also knew he would have to get out of town relatively quickly, just in case someone got a little too drunk and started telling tales. It could definitely wait until morning, however. He travelled light, kept what money he had hidden in the house. At that moment however, he wanted food and rest, and the comfort of Bal close by; he'd had a long day.

With a last, heavy sigh, Merlin dragged himself to his feet and went further into the house to find some food for both himself and the dog. Bal jumped happily at his heels, looking lovingly up at his master. Merlin diced some leftover meat into smaller pieces and summoned a couple of bowls from a shelf too high to reach. Filling one with the meat, he placed it near the water bowl he kept in a corner for Balinor. 

He relit the fire on his way back past. For himself, he added a couple more vegetables to the pot over the hearth, making a stew in a way many did at the time; with a base almost always left in the pot with some more nutrients and texture added when it became a little bland. Meat was expensive, but rather than subject his dog to the vegetables, Merlin bought what he could afford and gave most of it to Bal.

As the broth heated to a boil, Merlin sat on a stool next to the low, crackling fire and went back over what he'd seen earlier. He wondered if it would ever happen again, and what it meant...was it a prophecy? Or was it just a hallucination? Maybe his brain had at last started aging too fast to regenerate itself. He wouldn't be surprised, he was hardly a young man anymore, even though he only looked around thirty. He seemed to age five years every hundred from what he could tell, which was pretty useful for getting jobs. His brain was still as good as ever though; he'd never had problems before.

He sighed and finished off his meal. Tomorrow he would leave, and he had to pack. Clearing away his bowl and spoon, he went to find his travelling bag and started to fill it with the bare necessities. Who knew how far he'd have to travel? He didn't have a horse, so he was limited to what he could take on foot. The little food he had was wrapped up and packed, along with a bowl, cutlery, hunting knife, and some clothes. He put the bag down by the door, laying his sword across it, and his bow and arrow. When Arthur had been alive, he'd been a lousy shot and lousier at swordmanship, but he had to fend for himself out here and still keep his magic secret. So he'd practiced. And practiced. And practiced, until he could properly defend himself and catch a meal.

His bedroll would be done in the morning, along with Balinor's bed (a few old blankets Merlin no longer used). With a heavy heart, Merlin decided it was time to settle down for the night. He got ready for bed and pulled the covers over him; it may be summer, but nights still got cold in houses with no glass windows or insulation. He whistled to Bal, who obediently settled on his own bed and closed his eyes to sleep.

Merlin followed suit and soon exhaustion took over, pulling him into a deep, dreamless sleep.


	2. 837AD; Emrys: the Beloved Baker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 100 years later, Merlin has acquired a job in a town's bakery, and things are going great. He has friends, he knows the village, and he loves being a baker. One busy festival day, a familiar face wanders into his shop, giving him quite a surprise.

Merlin woke with the sun, the bright orange light striking his closed eyes through a gap in the shutters. He woke slowly, feeling the bed around him for Aithusa. Her fur was pale as the dragon's scales had been and often she slept beside him. That morning however, she wasn't curled up by his side. Instead all he felt was the cold wall on his left.

He gave a small huff of disappointment and opened his eyes, shielding them from the blinding morning sun. He really should remember to close the shutters properly. Squinting to his right, he saw Aithusa sat with her bowl in her mouth, tail thumping gently against the ground. He gave a soft chuckle and sat up, stretching his arms up above his head as he did.

"Is it breakfast time then?" He asked, voice croaky having just woken up, and got a muffled 'ruff' around the bowl in response. Smiling, Merlin set about finding two lots of breakfast. He was working as a baker in a large town and had to be up early to bake bread before opening.

"Getting up at dawn six days a week isn't really fun, is it Aithusa?" He mumbled to her around a yawn. She put the bowl down at his feet and he sleepily filled it with meat. He didn't have to be up so early, but once he was a bit more awake, he enjoyed the long hours. It kept him from dwelling on the past or worrying about the future too much.

Half an hour later found Merlin unlocking the back door to the bakery. The front of the shop was mostly a glassless window (currently shuttered), and a door which would be open all day after opening time. Aithusa stayed at home during the days, and a friend checked on her in the afternoons. The back door of the bakery led into a small cloak room. Merlin hung his jacket up, replacing it with an apron over his off-white shirt and dark trousers.

He went through a connecting arch into the kitchen and got to work. In half an hour he'd be joined by the lady who owned the bakery. She reminded him strongly of the large cook in Camelot's castle's kitchen, but a little friendlier. He began mixing dough for bread rolls in a large bowl and didn't hear her come in until she appeared right beside him.

" 'ow many times have I told you? You don't have to be 'ere at the crack o' dawn, Emrys." She said in exasperation.

Merlin started, missing the dough he was kneading and whacked the heel of his palm on the wooden bench top. "Oh, Hilda! Sorry, I didn't hear you come in "

"Aye, tha' I see." She chuckled, tying her apron behind her back.

"I only got up at the crack of dawn, I was actually here half an hour after it." He replied with a grin. Hilda merely rolled her eyes and took ingredients off the shelves. They had the same argument every few days, though at the start it had been a bit more heated, until Hilda realised she was never going to win.

She joined Merlin in baking, not bothering to make much more than basic conversation. She commented on the festival that was being held that day and Merlin slapped a floured hand to his forehead.

"You'd forgotten, 'adn't you?" Hilda accused with a smirk. He admitted he had, and went back to shaping his dough. It was a good job he'd gotten in early, he thought. "Course, it means we'll be working twice as 'ard as usual, but we'll manage. We always do."

A festival meant extra biscuits and scones and bread, along with free tasters and a weather eye on the customers to make sure no one was slipping anything extra into their pockets. It meant an exhausting day, but worth it to see the smiles on children's faces when Merlin discreetly handed them a little something sweet without their parents noticing. They'd giggle and stuff it out of sight quickly, often whole into their mouths. It was Merlin's favourite day of the year.

Opening time rolled around quicker than the two of them would have liked, but they were just about ready to face the day. They had mixtures ready in case favourites ran low, and everything was out on display looking delicious. The kitchen was at the back of the building, separated from the shop by a wall that had an archway instead of a door to help the smell of bread baking waft through. The shop had a counter with scales and a draw for money, tables dotted around with displays of cakes, biscuits, scones, rolls, loaves, pastries and anything else you could imagine on them.

Merlin opened the shutters on the window and pulled open the front door. He latched it in place and went to stand behind the counter, a welcoming smile on his face as he watched people pass the window.

It wasn't long until their first customers wandered through the door, and from then onwards a steady stream of people came and went. Merlin had no need to fake his smile, and his cheeriness was contagious. Everyone who went in left with lighter purses and a lighter mood. Not many were unhappy of course; it wouldn't be proper to be grumpy on a festival day, but everyone left the bakery feeling good about the day.

He knew a lot of the customers; many were regulars and since they were the only bakery in town, those who could afford it came in for a fresh loaf every day or so. That day however, a true mix of people were in and out of the shop. From the Mayor to the orphans living on the street, Merlin served them all. He had a favourite little boy who came to the back door almost daily after closing time to see if they had any leftovers from previous days. Merlin had started putting slightly overbaked rolls and treats aside for the boy, and when Hilda found out she'd made sure there was enough to go around other children without families.

The boy was called Eric, and when he appeared outside the shop window with a few of his friends that day, Merlin beckoned them in. With Hilda's permission, he'd baked a whole tray of goodies for the children that day. The small group of scruffy children came into the shop, and Merlin reached behind the counter for a bag containing the food.

"Eric! Have you grown? I'm sure you have; you seem taller than even yesterday!" He said, smiling at the boy no older than seven. The others with him were around the same age. Merlin knelt down so he was more of an eye level with the group of youngsters. They were off to the side of the room, so the other customers were in no way compromised in their browsing. "Since today is a very special day, and you are all very special children, I've baked you all something to share with your friends."

Merlin indicated the satchel full of baked goods in his hand, and handed it over. The children's eyes went wide and they started jabbering excitedly. It put the biggest smile of the day so far on his face, and ruffled Eric's hair affectionately as the by peered into the bag with unabridged astonishment.

"Off you go, and don't stuff them all down in one go, I know what you're like." He teased, and the children noisily clamoured their thanks over their shoulders as they ran out the shop, smiles from ear to ear on each face. Merlin smiled after them, lost in thought, until a cough from behind brought him back to reality. He started and whirled around, apologising to the customer who wanted his attention.

\------

Just after lunch time there was a temporary reprieve in customers, and Merlin sat in a simple wooden chair behind the counter. He gave a deep sigh and closed his eyes, glad for even just a moment's rest. He heard Hilda come up beside him and he opened his eyes to see her offering him a plate of bread and cheese, along with a small cake for after. He gave her a grateful smile and rested the plate of food on his knees.

"How are we doing so far?" He asked around a mouthful of bread. Hilda chuckled at his bulging cheeks. He may not look especially young, but he certainly still acted like it when he wanted to.

"Sold out of buns, most of the loaves are gone too. Got some more in the oven though, so you stay right where you are." She added sternly as Merlin made a move to get up. "I'll not have you collapsing on me from 'unger. Eat up. Lord knows you need no encouragement." She teased as he stuffed some cheese into his already packed full mouth.

He attempted a grin, eliciting a horrified sort of smile from Hilda. "I'll leave you to it, love." She said, patting him on the shoulder and going back into the kitchen. Merlin stared out the window as he ate, vaguely watching passers-by. He could hear laughter drifting in off the street, along with music from the town square nearby and the indistinguishable chatter over it all. He savoured every bit of his basic lunch; his stomach had been complaining for half the morning.

As he finished his bread, Merlin couldn't help but think of the vision. He had had it twice before, 50 years apart. If it were to repeat itself, it would be that year, and very soon, he realised suddenly. It had always happened in the height of summer, and if his memory served him, as it usually did, the other two had been on the same day, with 50 years between. A trickle of cold dread went through him as he counted the years between then and now. It was that day today. If it was going to happen, it would be within the next 12 hours. At least now he was prepared, or as prepared as he could be without locking himself away in his house for the day. He knew he could deal with it; the last time it had happened he'd been in a very tricky situation, but he'd kept his control, and it had been over before anything too awful could happen.

He'd been a potter at the time, and when Elyan had wandered into his humble shop and he'd had the vision, he'd almost blown his pots to smithereens on coming back out of it. It had taken every ounce of his control to reign it in. He'd never found Elyan after that, though he spent months looking for him. It was a year later that he'd been walking through a cemetery and come across a grave that claimed Elyan le Blanc had died just a week after visiting Merlin's shop. He'd been hugely saddened by the news, and felt as if he had the worst luck in the world.

As if to distract him from this train of thought, at that moment a customer came in. He stood up quickly and smiled at the lady. He got back to work, depositing his uneaten cake behind the counter for later, and putting the empty plate in the kitchen. Business in the afternoon picked back up and Merlin was glad they'd made extra that morning. Even so the shelves began to look bare alarmingly quickly. In the middle of the afternoon there was a moment with just one customer in, and as Merlin handed her her change and complimented her hat, a little girl with skin the colour of coffee and a dress as yellow as sunflowers ran in with wide eyes.

Merlin smiled and sneaked a sweet treat off a table. He went over to where she was staring in awe at all the shapes of bread available. She couldn't have been older than three, and he crouched down in front of her.

"Hello," he said gently. She turned to him and smiled a toothy smile. He held out the cake to her. "Would you like to try this, quick before your mummy comes?" Her eyes went, if possible, even wider, and she nodded. She took the cake and stuffed it whole into her tiny mouth. Merlin grinned and stood back up. A second later the girl's mother entered, and Merlin's heart froze, his stomach giving an unpleasant lurch.

"There you are. Honestly, you have to stop running off!" She said with a laugh, scooping her daughter into her arms. She got a cheeky, cake filled grin in return.

"Gwen..." Merlin whispered, and she looked over at him. Her eyes went wide and she stared at him in shock.

"Merlin?" She put her daughter down. "Merlin!" She ran over to him and engulfed him in a hug. At the moment of contact, he found himself back in the forest, a campfire burning happily in front of him. A feeling of great calm swept over him, replacing the surprise he'd felt at seeing Gwen with serenity. He whispered a spell, and sparks from the fire formed a dozen butterflies. He gave a small smile, and watched them flutter into nonexistence. He heard someone sit down beside him and he took a fortifying breath.

"You know, last night I had the weirdest dream." He heard for the third time. The sound of the familiar voice caused a pang of nostalgia. His heartstrings tugged and he choked out the same response as last time.

"Really?" This time his voice didn't crack as it had done previously.

"You told me you were a sorcerer, and you made the sparks from the fire into a dragon."

He knew the drill by now, knew what he should say next. Two painful visions had prepared him enough to have his answer ready. "Oh? What happened then?" He wished he was able to keep his voice entirely steady, wished he could inject some measure of calm into it. Instead it wavered as he spoke, and he squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to go back to the present where Gwen, a real, solid, live Gwen, was waiting for him.

"We went for a dragon ride, I fell asleep by a lake, and woke up freezing cold." He said, bemused. Merlin was beginning to hate the smile in his voice, the casual, lighthearted way in which Arthur spoke. He felt bitterly jealous that he couldn't feel the same. Not when he was slowly getting older, his bones slowly aching more and more, his life slowly getting harder and harder. However much he hated it at times though, it was nothing to the torture of this sodding vision. So he looked over at Arthur, tears of frustration welling in his eyes.

"Stop it. Just stop it." He whispered as the smiling image of Arthur faded, burning itself once again onto his retinas. And then he was back in the shop, and only a second seemed to have passed. He was still being crushed by Gwen's arms, and he let himself relax a little.

"Ow, Gwen, ribs..." he muttered and she let go at once.

"I'm sorry," she said in a rush, "I just feel like I've found a part of me I didn't know was missing. Camelot just came rushing back to me, all of it." She looked a little dazed, and Merlin smiled fondly. "Oh Merlin, it's so good to see you!" She gave him another hug, mercifully shorter and less painful than the last. Then her brow crumpled into a frown, as if she was thinking hard. "How long ago was...how old are you? Or have you been reborn too?" She demanded, her face the picture of confusion. Merlin could only laugh and shake his head.

"I lost count of the years after a while. Somewhere over 300 though." Her look of shock was blissful to Merlin. He'd missed the people from his first life more than he could say.

They spoke for another ten minutes until customers began to trickle in again. Merlin gave Gwen his address and directions to his house, and asked her and her family over for dinner that night, but warned her it would be simple. She beamed and accepted, then left with a loaf, adorable child in tow. He began to plan the evening ahead, and knew that had he been asked, he would never have been able to find the right words to describe how he felt at that moment.

When at last the bakery shut, Merlin hurried home, barely remembering to say goodbye to Hilda before he ran out the door. He went to the butcher's minutes before it shut, buying the finest cut of meat they had left. He grew vegetables in his tiny garden that was shared with two other houses, and knew it was about the right time for some to be picked. He could make a basic, but tasty, meal. He all but ran home, he was so excited for the evening ahead. It was beyond refreshing to be able to talk to someone who had lived through at least some of what he had.

The evening was a delight, and Merlin got to meet Gwen's husband and other child. He approved massively, and spent a very enjoyable evening reminiscing over times spent in Camelot, and filling her in on what had happened to him after he'd left. There were tales and jokes, wine and food. The two children played with Aithusa until all three were exhausted. He couldn't have asked for a better night; he hadn't felt happier than he did then for years. It was late when Gwen finally left, two sleepy children being carried by their parents. Merlin watched them walk back down the dark path from his door, a sense of serenity filling him. Whatever happened next, whatever destiny decided to throw at him, he'd be ready.


	3. 1227; Baelfire:The Lucky Fisherman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin has a comfortable and very enjoyable life as a fisherman, but has the bad luck to see a man-overbaord that triggers yet another vision. Living under the name Baelfire he spends his days sailing, hauling, and generally at peace. Sometimes though, something disrupts this routine.

The summer's day was bright and warm, the sky above marred only by thin wispy clouds that were continuously whisked away on a crisp breeze. Merlin's face was showing signs of his age. His wrinkles grew slowly deeper, his hair was growing in grey, and his beard was flecked with white. He'd lived a long life, but just how long only truly showed in his eyes. They were surrounded by laughter lines, and the depth of their wisdom was clear to see. Children adored his stories, adults pretended to just be there for their children, but when the village heard he'd be telling a story that evening, almost every house emptied to listen.

It wasn't just tales of The Once and Future King he told, oh no. He told of everything of note that had happened to him. From the time the kitchen exploded in an inn to his time as a soldier fighting against the invading Vikings. His ever growing list of occupations now included fisherman stories. To the other people in the village, Merlin was Baelfire, the old fisherman with a stubborn bit of life left in his tired bones.

His lined face was tanned and tough, his hands scarred and calloused from the seas and fishing hooks. His arms were more muscled than they ever had been, grown strong with hauling up large catches. He was a lucky fisher, and almost always came back with enough to share. His trusty companion, his old mutt Gwen, was constantly by his side too, and she had as much vigour as he did, bouncing and playing with children that came up to see her.

The sun beat down on the back of Merlin's neck where he was stood on the reasonably sized fishing boat. It was crewed by few, just enough to man it and help if there was trouble. Only about six of them. They had thrown out a trawl net and were sailing happily along as they waited for it to fill. Merlin was leaning against the wooden rails at the edge of the deck, staring peacefully out over the calm expanse of blue. He loved the quiet of the sea. They were too far out to have gulls flying overhead, so the only noise came from the small waves lapping gently at the side of the boat as it slid effortlessly through the water and the other men on the ship as they talked and laughed together.

Most were young men, fighting fit but with little experience. Merlin was, as ever, the oldest. He looked just under 60, and everyone knew he was the man to fish with. He had only returned empty handed twice; once when another boat had smashed into his own and he'd been forced back to shore before he'd managed to catch anything, and the other when pirates had taken his boat with his haul, and he had had to row back ashore in a row boat, Gwen keeping watch for catfish from the prow. He had spent longer than usual at this fishing village; they didn't seem too nosy about his slow aging. They simply accepted it, or ignored it. Either way, Merlin was grateful.

This trip promised to be the same as all the others. A quick searching spell had shown Merlin where the best place to fish was that day, and he'd been sure to get there. The wind had been favourable -"A gift from God!" the men had cried- the weather fair -"Luck is on our side, boys!" they said. Only Merlin knew better, and he had sense enough not to say anything. It was almost time to haul in the net, and he gave a piercing whistle. Gwen barked and the men quietened, congregating behind Merlin, waiting eagerly.

Merlin pushed himself off the rail, a smile on his tanned face. He said nothing but the men murmured excitedly and went to their stations. Two went to get barrels to put the fish in; the rest went to the net. It was large and would take all four to heave it over the side and into the boat. A young boy, no older than twelve and learning the fisherman's trade from Merlin was helping to fetch the barrels. He and the other man fetching them brought up six large wooden containers from below-deck, and then leaned out over the edge of the boat in anticipation.

"Ollie, come here and help haul this up. You're strong." Merlin said, shuffling to the side a little. Ollie's face lit up and he sprinted over, slipping a little on the wet deck. He grabbed hold of the net. "On three!" Merlin commanded. "One! Two! Three -heave!" He shouted, and pulled with all his might. The others did the same and slowly they backed up, gathering the net as they did and pulling it up from the bottom of the ocean. It came slowly, the weight of the fish and the water resistance making it hard work.

"Put your backs into it! Come on, lads!" Shouted one of the others. There were renewed efforts and the net finally broke the surface. A cheer went up and they pulled harder still. Moments later there were fish of every size flopping around inside the net, at last on the deck, entangling themselves further.

"Step to it boys!" Ordered Merlin's second in command. They all rolled up sleeves and converged to make short work of the fish. Ollie excused himself when he got some in his eye, and went back over to the railings. The rest kept at it until there was no more movement. They cheered again, ecstatic to be taking so much home with them.

"Let's cast the net out again, Baelfire!" Ollie exclaimed. Merlin shot him a smile.

"Best not in the same place. Fish get wary if you take from the same place, stop coming back." He said, and Ollie shrugged. It was Merlin's and one other's job to barrel up the fish, and the rest went to wash up. Ollie was back leaning out over the edge of the boat, and Merlin started throwing fish into barrels according to size. It was a long, arduous task, but it kept his hands busy. If he had nothing to do, he found he often dwelled on the vision, on how he'd seen Gwaine, Elyan, Leon, Gaius, Will, Uther, Mordred, and both his parents either die before him or disappear before he could reach them. He had at least got to spend time with Gwen, about 30 years, until she died. In a way that was even more painful than the others.

Ten people, ten visions, 50 years between them. It was another ten years until the next vision, and he was dreading it. Every time they happened they seemed to be triggered by the appearance of someone from his old life. He didn't want to see more of them die. Even watching Uther die had been arduous; a reminder of what had once been, before having it ruthlessly snatched away from him. But no, it was ten years to the next one, and he had other things to think about.

He had just filled his third barrel when Ollie's high voice shouted words no sailor wants to hear. "Man overboard!" The wooden boards, still covered in fish bits and blood, were suddenly full of movement. Men shouted and barked orders to get rope and turn the ship about to reach the poor soul in the water. Within seconds they were ready to manoeuvre the boat into position to fish him out.

"Ollie, keep a visual and point at him, Baelfire, to the helm," ordered a large man with an impressive beard, and he continued shouting to the rest of the crew, keeping them calm and collected. His commands were followed without question. Merlin knew several ways of recovering someone who was in the sea. He was steady and sure, and used just a hint of magic to make it easier to get the right angles and wind.

Within minutes, the man -either unconscious or dead- was being pulled over the side. Merlin tied off the wheel and fetched the blankets. "He's alive!" Came a shout, followed by relieved murmurs. The man was lying on deck, his face hidden from Merlin by the other five in the way. Ollie took the blankets from him, and in the momentary gap in bodies, Merlin saw the face of the man. He was half-drowned and gave a spluttering cough as he opened his eyes. Merlin's heart sank, then he was suddenly calm, sitting by a fire in the middle of the forest. Stars twinkled high above the canopy and with a whispered spell, a dozen butterflies made of sparks danced upwards. He was at peace.

There was the faintest smell of the sea, but he ignored it. This was where he was supposed to be. Someone came up behind him, then sat down next to him. He closed his eyes, knowing precisely what was about to happen.

"You know, last night I had the weirdest dream." It was painful to hear, but by now Merlin knew if he turned too soon Arthur would fade away, leaving only a disembodied voice. It's too early, thought Merlin. This shouldn't happen for another ten years. There was nothing to be done, and he simply let it play out. Despite it being the 11th time this exact sequence of events had played out, Merlin still felt despair clawing at his insides.

When he came to, he was knelt next to the -now awake- man they had pulled onto the ship. The other five had moved back a little, whether at his command or not he couldn't say. He stared down into the once familiar face, knowing full well what was about to happen here, too, and that there was nothing he could do to stop it.

"Lance..." He whispered, his voice cracking. "I'm so...I'm so sorry." Tears slid silently down his face, and Lancelot gave the smallest of smiles. He grasped Merlin's hand weakly, and Merlin clenched his jaws to stop them shaking.

"It's good to see you again, Merlin." With a last rattling, wet breath, Lancelot died. It took all the control Merlin had to not let his magic go the way he had the first time he'd had the vision. Merlin didn't even notice when the crew dispersed a few moments later, all sombre and respectful. Grief stabbed his insides, and he knew his legs wouldn't support him if he tried to get up. Still staring at the pale face before him, he saw a small, un-scarred hand reach over and close the eyes. Ollie was the only one who had stayed, kneeling on the other side of Lance to Merlin.

"He called you Merlin...your name isn't really Baelfire, is it?"

Merlin shook his head, unable to bear speaking, afraid his voice would catch and crack.

"And he was Lancelot, wasn't he?" He paused for Merlin's nod. "Those stories you tell, they aren't stories, are they? They're real. King Arthur was real, and you're Merlin, the most powerful sorcerer to ever walk the Earth." Merlin didn't look up, waiting for...something. "No wonder you always come home with a good haul." Ollie chuckled, and Merlin felt something relax inside him. He gave the smallest of smiles, still not taking his eyes off Lance's body. It was possibly the best thing the boy could have said to ease Merlin's worry a little. For that he was grateful.

"You must be really old..." Ollie said gently, sounding a little in awe.

"I've been alive for over seven hundred years. And life gets no easier the older you get." His tone was haunted and desolate, and Ollie looked at him sadly.

"If I can do anything to help, ever, let me know." Merlin gave the smallest of nods, and Ollie got up, going to help everyone else finish barrelling the fish up before they turned back to shore. Although it had been a fantastic catch, the mood was, understandably, less than cheerful on the way home.

The crossing back was smooth and took only a few hours. Merlin took Lance ashore and over the next few days he organised the burial, an aching emptiness where his heart should have been. The feeling refused to go away.

He continued living in the fishing village for several more years. Ollie told no one what he'd found out, and Merlin saved as much money as he could so he could move on to another new life somewhere else. He spent a happy last few years among friends and when the time came to leave, it broke his heart as it did almost every time he had to move. But he soldiered onwards, making as good a life as he could every time he arrived somewhere new.

He never forgot that village, and knew they would welcome him home if he ever went back. Not just because he brought in fish and related trade, but he had made true friends, and no matter what, they would have him with them without questions of why he lived so long and got one new grey hair every other decade. Merlin knew he would miss them greatly, but eventually, he always had to move on.


	4. 1617; Old Man Emrys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin has the whole vision thing sussed out, and knows that when he can he should stay at home to minimise damage or humiliation in public. So on the day it's due in 1617, he makes himself comfortable and waits for a vision.

Stretching out his legs in his ancient, worn armchair, Merlin's knees gave a satisfying crack, and he sighed deeply in relief. He had lost count of how old he truly was, but his hair had turned white, and his beard had rapidly followed suit. People said he looked about 80, and he tended to take it as a compliment. He took each day as it came, but spent as many as he could training his workhands out in the fields. He posed as a farmer now, with several acres of his own land, and doing very well for himself. He had a comfortable, modern house in which he lived with two people he employed to keep the place in order.

One, a plump middle aged man with a wooden leg named James, did most of the cooking and kept the downstairs of the house in good shape. His hair was thinning on top, and he had a kindly face with small, shiny eyes filled with laughter. The other, his daughter Eliza, kept the upstairs tidy and made sure visitors were seen into the living room. She was a medium height with dark brown hair and eyes that captured the interest of many a man in town, but she always laughed them off. The two were paid well for their efforts and company, and never wanted for anything. Merlin made sure of that, and that they knew they were free to take holidays or leave him if they ever wished. But both were happy there, a short walk from town, with friendly neighbours and good pay, they wished for nothing more.

The day in question, delicious smells were wafting from the kitchen at the far left of the house, and Merlin was well settled in his little library. His chair faced a large open window that showed the spacious garden. He could hear Eliza singing to herself as she swept the floor above the library, and he gave a small smile. She had talent, and it was nice not to have complete silence. Merlin was as comfortable as he had ever been, and surrounded by as many books on magic that he could find and collect over the last couple of centuries. He sat with one now on his knees, open about two thirds of the way in, and in a language long forgotten by the modern English-man. As far as he was aware, Merlin was the only one alive who still spoke Old English, and he liked to keep his knowledge alive as much as he could.

So he had recipe, spell, and potions books all in the forgotten tongue. The one on his lap was being mainly ignored in favour of watching birds flit between the fruit trees in the garden. They were bright flashes of colour that often blended in with the flower beds around them. He watched with some amusement as a tiny bird attempted to lift a small apple off the ground where it had fallen. He whispered a spell and the apple lifted easily off the ground. The bird gave a merry whistle as it flitted off.

The morning passed in peace, Merlin barely thinking about the fact that that day could very possibly be the day another person from his past came back and he had to endure a vision. He'd figured out that every 10 visions the time between them decreased by a decade. So he sat in his home, relaxed and ready. He was hoping that if he hid at home it might not happen. He thought it might be worth a shot, so he'd sent others into work in his place, allowing him to sit in his chair and catch up on a century's worth of reading. 

He heard the knocker on the door a couple of times after lunch, and though his heart contracted at the sound each time, no one disturbed him in his library. His nose was practically touching the pages of the book he was deciphering when the door went again. It barely registered with him, so when he heard Eliza's alarmed cry from the hall it was more of a shock than it should have been. He snapped the book shut and hurried as fast as his old legs would carry him towards the sound of Eliza's distressed voice, all thoughts of the vision whisked from his mind.

She was supporting a cloaked traveller, their arm around her shoulders and leaning heavily on the slight girl. Merlin quickly gathered his wits about him and ordered them taken to the library and placed in the chair he had only just vacated. He made a valiant effort to run to his medical supplies, and achieved something very close to a run, ignoring any and all pain in his complaining joints. He grabbed various bottles and returned to his library. 

He didn't look at the traveller as he re-entered, only noted the discarded cloak hanging on a chair. The newcomer was wheezing audibly, and Merlin quickened his pace. Dumping his haul on the table next to the man, for now he was close enough to see their gender, he took his pulse as he gave a rattling cough. Merlin glanced at the handkerchief Eliza skilfully placed to catch the cough and saw blood. His stomach dropped and he felt sadness settle over him. 

He recognised the man simply from the size of him. The wheezing was all too familiar from the numerous ailments he had gone to Gaius with over the years. The strong arms now shaking with the coughs racking his body were impossible to forget. How many times had they carried him unconscious back to the castle, back to safety, after saving Arthur had gone awry? He had seen this disease so many times, and had never seen anyone survive it.

His fingers dropped from the man's neck. "I'm sorry, Percival. Even so long after our last meeting and years of trying, there's nothing I can do to cure you," he sighed, as his vision went dark and he found himself in front of a crackling fire. All trace of melancholy drained away, replaced by contentment. Butterflies flickered from the flames, and a blond someone sat down beside him. The feeling of content faded as well, leaving him almost hollow. He felt anger trickling in from the corners of his mind. He could speak along with Arthur now.

"You know, last night I had the weirdest dream." He said in a mocking falsetto at the same time as Arthur. He had no reason to hide his anger, no one to see it, so he let it fill him. It rose quickly, so long repressed. 

"Really?" He spat, glaring at the fire as if it had personally murdered the man he loved.

"You told me you were a sorcerer, and you made the sparks from the fire into a dragon." He said with the apparition Arthur in the same mocking tone. 

"A bit like this then?" He asked, and turned the fire into a roaring dragon. He had done the trick before, and the vision froze, the wings of the dragon the only thing moving. He watched it with bitter satisfaction as it breathed fire on the surrounding tents. They set alight quickly and the world turned bright as day. He knew nothing more would happen though. He could not burn his way out of this torture. It was nice to be able to practice his magic in the open though, however fleeting it would be. 

"What happened then?" He said coolly, a slight shake to his voice the only betrayal of his bitterness. The fires went out as soon as he spoke the proper words and they were plunged into darkness once more.

"We went for a dragon ride, I fell asleep by a lake, and woke up freezing cold." And at last Merlin turned to look, but all he saw was the fading smile and glint of blue eyes. Everything faded around him and the sound of Eliza fussing around him was just as familiar as, and far more welcome than, the vision. He felt the squashy cushions beneath him and opened his eyes with another sigh. 

"Thank you, Eliza." He said despondently, pushing himself out of the armchair beside Percival's that she had somehow lifted him into. 

"Will that be all, Mr Emrys?" She asked politely, avoiding his gaze. He gave a nod, not trusting his voice, and she curtsied and left. The door clicked shut quietly behind her, and Percival gave a cough that sounded as if determined he were to rid himself of the weight of his lungs. Merlin walked the three steps to the knight, and knelt down. He looked up into the dulled eyes above him. 

"It's nice to see you again, Merlin," rasped Percival. The short sentence was followed by a coughing fit that lasted almost a minute. Merlin spelled the handkerchief clean but got no reaction from the man. It was possible he didn't notice.

"Have you," cough, "met anyone else," cough, "from Camelot?" Percival asked slowly. It was painful just to hear how each breath rattled on its way in.

Merlin nodded. "Every so often someone turns up and dies on me. I got to know Gwen again, she stuck around for 30 years before she passed on. I've had Lancelot, Gwaine, Elyan, Leon, Gaius..." the list went on but he couldn't bring himself to finish it. "Almost everyone but Arthur," he forced out through a constricted throat. 

"That must be hard," Percival croaked, "I know how much he meant to you." He paused to cough yet again. "How was Gwaine?" Even without the infection, Merlin suspected his voice would have been strained with the memory of his best friend. Merlin chuckled, but his eyes filled with tears. They refused to fall, even as he remembered the last thousand years.

"As he always was. Full of life and laughter. And drink," he added with a pained smirk. He decided it would be kinder not to mention how Gwaine had died. It seemed an unnecessary and bloody pain to inflict upon someone already so close to death. "It has been good to see you, old friend."

"Old? I'm only 27," Percival said with an attempt at a grin. The spots of blood on his lips made it a grim sight to behold. Merlin gave a watery laugh in spite of that, tears finally spilling down his cheeks. His heart was beating too fast, his mouth trembling as it hadn't in years. He did not want to say goodbye again. Not after so brief a time together.

"When you see them all again..." he didn't know what he wanted to tell them. How much he missed them? How he would never forget them? Such sentiments seemed frail in comparison to how he truly felt. He could picture them in an afterlife; together once again, sat around the infamous round table. Percival's seat empty, and Merlin's. Percival would walk in to cheers, and a roar from Gwaine. He would be greeted like he hadn't been sat there for 1000 years already, welcomed back with open arms and tackles from his best friends. Merlin would give anything to go with him. But he couldn't, not yet. It didn't occur to him that if that was how it was, Percival wouldn't have asked how Gwaine had been. He struggled now to find the words he truly wanted. 

"I'll tell Arthur, don't worry. I'll find him..." Even with the light slipping from Percival's eyes, they were staring at Merlin with an understanding that Merlin was beyond grateful for. He sniffed and nodded his thanks, trying to suppress his oncoming sobs.

"Tell him to hurry up and come back to me," Merlin choked out, gripping Percival's hand with as much strength as he could muster. He got a cough in response, a jerky nod, and then the hand in his went slack and he finally let out a sob, his head falling onto the knee in front of him. "I can't do this much longer. Tell him to come back to me." He whispered into the worn fabric.

He didn't know how long he stayed like that, mourning the loss of yet another from his first life. He only realised any time had passed at all when Eliza gently took his shoulders and lifted him to his feet. His eyes were dry, his throat raw from crying, and his knees screaming at him. He let her lead him up to his room, where he lay on his bed feeling emptier than he had in 30 years. His stomach growled but he didn't have the energy left to fill it, nor the motivation. Instead he lay listening to the birds outside, the howl of the wind in the trees, and the patter of rain against the windows as the clouds began to cry. 

He envied the clouds. How they could let the weight fall from them and be so much lighter when they were done. The sun was setting when he had collapsed onto his bed, and by the time Merlin felt ready to succumb to the numbing demands of sleep, darkness had fully fallen, a crescent moon shining brightly through the window. 

He fell asleep to the sound of rain tapping insistently on the glass, the wind singing him a lullaby as he let himself fall into unconsciousness at long last. He wished, not for the first time and surely not for the last, that he would not wake up again. Wished that he could join Arthur wherever he was, to be done with the world once and for all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter hasn't been finished yet, so there may be more than a week's wait for it! I hope you're enjoying it so far, it's been a lot of fun to write.


	5. 2014; A Senior Citizen Called Merlin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin has long since given up changing his name; no one cares anymore. So he's living a quiet life as a retired senior citizen, and rather enjoying not having to work. He spends Tuesday mornings having coffee with other retirees in the village, which is always a quaint time...until one day when the last person Merlin would ever expect walks through the door.

The previous night had been stormy, and Merlin had lain awake for hours trying to get to sleep. The thunder had rumbled right above him, the lightning flashing frequently across the sky, and he'd spent until the early hours of the morning tossing and turning in an attempt to drop off. Eventually his mind had quieted enough for him to be able to ignore the crashing and booming, but it had by no means been a peaceful night.

As often happened the night before a vision (whether he knew it was to happen or just suspected), he had dreamed of all his previously reincarnated friends he'd lost. That night was no different, and it was more exhausting than if he hadn't slept at all. He woke suddenly at six o'clock and took deep breaths to calm his rapidly beating heart.

He had no staff, it was 2014 after all, but a carer came in twice a week to help with the tidying and to make sure he was doing OK. He told his friends he didn't need the help, he was doing fine without it, but secretly he rather appreciated not having to do everything himself. He looked almost 100, though admittedly there was a limit to just how old you can look. But his beard was long, his hair shoulder length, and his back was stooped from years and years of hard labour. Being over 1500 years old, Merlin thought he looked rather good for his age.

The carer that came in also took his dog on walks when his arthritis was flaring up. His current dog was called Hunith, and he loved her more than anything else in the world. She was only three and still full of puppy-like enthusiasm. He hated to admit he couldn't always keep up with her on walks, but Glenn- the man who took her out- could and was happy to take her whenever she needed to be walked. She usually made do with the sizable garden.

That day wasn't one where Glenn would be coming to help him sort out the house though. Today Merlin would be using magic to help him make the bed and tidy the kitchen up. He had early morning coffee planned with a few friends in the village. They were in their late eighties or so, and Merlin felt he could relate quite well to them on many a topic.

Just before seven o'clock, Merlin took his keys off the hook by the door (he found he often misplaced them nowadays if he didn't leave them there), and set off walking into town to meet his fellow retired old folks. They always met up on Tuesday mornings for a catch-up and Merlin always looked forward to it. He strolled slowly down the street sound in the knowledge that Hunith was still fast asleep and when she woke would have a full bowl of food. He didn't expect to be out for long, anyway.

He passed the local bakery, and as he did every week, inhaled deeply as he went by. The scent of fresh baked bread and sweet treats followed him for a short way, and he gave a small smile, remembering Gwen. His joints may complain at every shuffling step, but his senses were still as sharp as ever. The sky that summer's day was overcast, but it didn't stop the birds from twittering and calling to each other from their perches. It was a short walk to the tea rooms, and Merlin was glad of it. There was a brisk breeze that made him wrap his coat a little closer around himself.

He reached the cafe just as a fat raindrop fell from above and landed on his nose. He glanced up at the sky with a disappointed frown, and pushed open the vintage-looking door. A little bell above tinkled to announce his arrival, and the familiar sound filled him with a sense of comfort. If it were to rain, he would at least be warm and cosy inside his favourite cafe.

"Morning Mr Emrys!" Called the barista from the coffee machine. "Looks a bit miserable outside, doesn't it?" It was the usual greeting he got, and he always appreciated it.

"Can't disagree with you there, Sim," Merlin said.

"The usual?" Sim asked, after finishing an order for a lady in a smart suit.

"Yes please," Merlin replied as he took his usual seat at his usual table in the usual corner, facing the door. It would be another four minutes until the others arrived, and he planned to settle first, as he did every week. A minute later a coffee was placed in front of him. "Ah, thank you. You know, coffee is perhaps the best trade deal I ever got to witness. I remember it first being introduced, it was revolutionary." He got an indulgent smile from the young waiter, and grinned to himself. If there was one thing he enjoyed about being so old, it was getting away with talking truthfully about his past and letting people assume he was just being funny about his age.

He took a sip of his coffee and patiently waited the last three minutes until sure enough, the bell jingled above the door, and four white-haired people came wandering over to where he sat. "I'd get up to greet you all, but I'd never be able to get back down," he joked by way of saying hello. They chuckled, and pulled out their comfy chairs from under the table to sit on.

"It's good to see you, Merlin." Said Ann, showing her missing tooth as she smiled. He returned the smile and the greeting. "How have you been?"

"No worse than usual. Creaking and cracking, but just you wait until you get to my age, see if you do as well as I do."

Ann snorted. "Merlin you're only a year older than I am, at most." He just smiled in reply.

"Well I discovered that I can play 'Hot Cross Buns' with my knuckles if I haven't cracked them for an hour." Said David. There was a general chorus of "that's disgusting" and "how on Earth did you figure that out?".

"My little Georgina loves it." He said in his own defence.

"Yes David, because she's only 6 months old. What does Maria say about it? Your daughter can't be all too impressed." Countered Pauline. David laughed, just as their usual order of drinks was placed down by the waiter. There was a clamour of thank you's, and the waiter smiled warmly at them all.

"No, you're right," continued David, "she thinks it's disgusting and tells me I'll get arthritis. Then I remind her I already have arthritis and she thinks that proves her point."

The conversation turned towards grandchildren and how they were doing. Merlin hadn't had family for a long time, but loved listening to the others talk about how Alan's 11 year old grandson had just lost a tooth playing rugby for the school team, or how not-so-little-anymore Ruth had just won her fifteenth medal in the county's show-jumping competition. He smiled and contributed where he could, remembering the last time he had grandchildren, in 1679. He knew he must still have descendants somewhere, but he had lost track of them after a while.

He was just taking the last sip of his coffee when the bell went once again, and Merlin looked up instinctively as he replaced his mug on the table. If he'd still been holding it, it would have shattered into a thousand pieces. As it was, his stomach froze, his heart pounded harder than it had in years, and his vision went fuzzy. A draft of cold air whacked him in the face, but it didn't even register. He barely heard the conversation around him stop, didn't feel the concern emanating from the other four around the table. His mouth fell open slightly.

"Merlin?" Pauline's voice sounded like it came from a great distance. "Merlin you've gone awfully pale, are you alright, love?" He couldn't answer, couldn't make a sound. Merlin could feel his eyes watering. If he'd been able to see himself, he would have seen some of his wrinkles fade, his hair and beard turn slightly less grey, and his eyes lose the dullness that had come with his immense age. But he couldn't see himself. All he could see was a rain-splattered Arthur Pendragon standing at the counter and deciding what he wanted to drink. He wasn't as young as the last time Merlin had seen him, rather he was late thirties, his face lined from stress. He wore a dark suit, carried a briefcase under one arm, and a soaking umbrella under the other. It had evidently started raining properly at some point.

Merlin tried to stand up, but he couldn't move. As he breathed in he thought he smelled a campfire and trees. He ignored it, but as the Arthur in the vision spoke, so did the Arthur in front of him. Not the same words, it would make no sense for a businessman to tell a barista that last night he'd had a dream about him, but it was jarring to hear him finally say something new, even just an order of black coffee. "Arthur," Merlin whispered. His friends frowned at each other, but he paid them no mind.

With the greatest effort anything had ever cost him, he forced his feet to take his weight. They seemed reluctant, and he gripped the table for support. At the back of his mind he heard the vision playing out, and also the mutters of concern from his friends. Still he ignored them, and edged out from behind the table. He felt a hand on his arm, and looked down to see David's concerned face. He shook it off, unable to find the words to explain himself. By the time he looked up again, Arthur had paid for his drink and was accepting it off Sim with a tight smile. He turned around and walked back towards the door.

"No..." Merlin croaked. His legs finally seemed willing to respond, and he followed the man he hadn't seen for over a thousand years. He didn't hear the other four call out after him, or hear their chairs scraping against the floor as they rose to go after him. He didn't hear the bell above the door, or the rain hammering down onto the pavement around him. He heard distant sirens, and footsteps of strangers. He heard a ringtone coming from Arthur's pocket, and saw him stuff the briefcase back under his arm, move the umbrella into the same hand as his coffee, and reach into his pocket to answer the phone.

"Arthur!" He called out, but his voice was so weak it was washed away by the rain, doomed to fail before it even began. Arthur stopped at a crossing, checked both ways, phone at his ear, then began to cross. Merlin was so tuned into that voice he heard every word, and savoured the sound of the long lost king. He hobbled after him, but the sound of sirens getting louder stopped him. There was a dreadful screech of tyres on wet road, and he looked in their direction, a feeling of dread smacking into him with enough force for him to stumble. "Arthur, look out!" He called in warning. Arthur heard this time, and looked left towards the car that had just come careening around the corner far too fast.

He dropped everything he was carrying and flung his hands up in front of his face, but it was a move that had no hope of succeeding in stopping the oncoming vehicle. The car's breaks squealed under stress as the driver tried to stop, but the road was too slippy, and he'd been going too fast. If he'd been younger, Merlin might have reacted in time with magic, but he wasn't. He was too old and too slow. He watched with a sick sense of horror in his stomach as Arthur went flying backwards. There was a scream from someone nearby. A police car came careening round the corner and only just managed to stop in time to avoid smashing into the back of the car that had just hit Arthur.

Merlin let out a wordless bellow of anger and distress, and the car's engine blew up as his eyes flashed gold. With the speed of someone far younger than himself, he ran over to the body lying limp in the rain. A small crowd was already gathering, but he pushed through them. "Arthur!" He shouted, his voice breaking, dropping to his knees and cradling the man's head in his lap. His eyes fluttered open, and someone from the crowd yelled. "He's still alive! Call an ambulance!"

"Merlin...?" Arthur choked out. Then a look of relief spread across his bloody face. "Percival told me..." he gave a rattling breath, "to hurry up," he coughed weakly.

"You're here, you came." Merlin sobbed. "You clot pole, you should have been more careful," his voice wavered as he tried to fight back the tears.

"I'm sorry." Arthur managed half a breath before he went truly limp in Merlin's arms, and for the second time, Merlin watched helplessly as the man he loved died in his arms, eyes fluttering closed. He was distraught, as if all that was good in the world had just been snuffed out.

Once again he found himself unable to move. He felt his magic pulse out of him, losing control of it for the first time in years, and the windows of the guilty car shattered, the glass falling with the rain to the ground. Seeing the face in front of him, calm enough to almost fool him into thinking he was perhaps only resting his eyes, Merlin was filled with love he hadn't felt for a lifetime or nine. His heart swelled fit to burst, and he almost wished it would, if it would remove the agony that was also coursing through his veins.

Why did this have to happen to him? It was a question he asked himself every time he lost someone else, but he'd never gotten an answer. He wasn't sure who he expected to answer, but someone, anyone, would have been nice. He felt a hand on his arm, and looked up to see Ann. Another hand was placed on his other arm, and he saw David. Tears were mingling with the rain on his cheeks now, but he didn't care. He knew he'd have to explain himself one day soon, but they had seen this sort of sadness before, and knew that what he needed was time to grieve.

They gently lifted him off the ground, his knees complaining the whole way, and Arthur was picked up by paramedics, who had just arrived at the scene. Merlin looked around dully, and saw the driver who had hit Arthur was handcuffed and sat in the back of the police car. His friends led him home, all four of them walking silently by his side, supporting him when he stumbled. They got to his house, and took the keys from his pocket to open the door. He was led gently inside, then straight up to bed. He sat on the edge of it, staring blankly at the carpet.

"You need to change your clothes, Merlin. You're soaked to the bone." Pauline said softly. Merlin didn't say anything; he couldn't get his throat to work. She sighed quietly and set about searching for clean, dry clothes. She found a drawer of pyjamas and handed them to him. "Get changed, we'll make you a cuppa," she said in the same sympathetic tone. Merlin only nodded, and when she'd left the room with Ann to put the kettle on, he stood, and magicked himself into the pyjamas. That one simple spell exhausted him far more than it should have done, and he swayed where he stood. Rather than catching himself, he let himself flop onto the bed.

That was how the other four found him a few minutes later, lying on his front with tears cascading silently down his face into his duvet. They shared a look he couldn't see, and came to a non-verbal agreement. Alan set down the cup of tea on the bedside table, then sat down in an armchair nearby. The other three left and returned moments later with chairs and cushions. They had enough experience in this field to know when they were needed to talk, or simply just to be there for the person. When he seemed ready, they helped him into a more comfortable position on the bed.

They stayed like that for the rest of the morning, holding a hushed conversation about nothing important, until Merlin drifted off. After the first ten minutes or so, Hunith had begun scratching at the door to be let in, and as soon as she was in, she'd jumped straight up onto the bed, offering her warmth and solid presence as support. So they sat, for three hours, until Merlin had calmed down enough to fully fall asleep, at which point they let themselves out, leaving a note that they'd be back to check on him tomorrow, and not to bother cooking, they'd bring comfort food round for him.

When he awoke several hours later, he felt numb and empty inside. He could feel Hunith at his side, and ran a hand through her soft fur. She thumped her tail slowly against the bedsheets, and he sighed. He wasn't sure what to do with himself, but the crushing emptiness inside him wasn't something he wanted to experience any longer than he had to, so he decided to sleep it off and deal with it all in the morning. Once more, he wished he might sleep forever, at least then he might be reunited with all those he had ever lost. That number was higher than he ever wanted to think about, so instead, he let himself fall into a deep slumber, hoping bleakly that he might never wake up.


	6. 2015: For the Final Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin has finally reached the point in life where he doesn't care about the vision. He's content to ignore it and live a life as full as he can in his old, old, old, old, old...old age. So he does. The last thing he expects to happen on a calm, relaxing evening camping is...well, this.

Merlin often took long weekends away to the Forest of Dean, and his favourite place to set up camp was a new site that hadn't been cleared of trees. There was a small clearing in the centre perfect for a campfire and a gathering, and it truly felt like there was no human influence on the place. The canopy above was thick, but on a clear night, stars could be seen twinkling through it, and when the fire went out, the entire sky lit up like it had when he'd gone on overnight trips with the Knights and Arthur, hunting, scouting, on a quest, or God knows what else.

He'd set up his two-man tent, walk the familiar trails all day, and socialise with other campers around a fire in the evening. The campsite staff often came along to hear Merlin's stories too. Hunith always got a lot of loving attention from the other campers, too.

The day he went in 2015 was scorching, and the coach he travelled on was full of loud teenagers. Fortunately, they only stayed on a few stops after Merlin got on, laden with only one rucksack: his gear and the provisions for Hunith all magically squashed inside. His en-route entertainment consisted of a book that had become extremely successful over the past decade or so, called 'Harry Potter'. The children at the after-school club he hosted seemed to enjoy it a lot, so he thought he'd give it a go, and borrowed a very battered and evidently well-loved copy from his local library.

A helpful young man stowed his rucksack in the overhead storage, and Merlin thanked him, a grateful smile tugging at his mouth. He sat at the front of the coach, Hunith lying on his feet. Flipping his long white beard over his shoulder to keep it from obscuring the pages, he carefully opened the book. For several hours he sat reading happily, enthralled in the first book of magic and muggles.

He took his time setting up his tent after arriving, rather than rushing off to a late-afternoon trail walk. Instead, he spent the afternoon getting to know the people that were around, and deciding on his schedule for the next two days or so. He spent a pleasant half an hour with a family who had travelled all day to get there, and would be staying a whole week before heading home. He had a cup of tea with them, and invited them to the campfire that evening that had become his tradition to organise and host. They readily agreed and promised to spread the word. Anyone else who took a routine holiday at the same time he did every year would likely seek him out later and ask if he was going to be doing it again. Not an hour later he was proven correct, when a couple who were also away for the weekend found him and inquired. He let them know that he'd be doing one for the next two or three nights.

That night was warm and bright, a small fire crackling in a clearing. He spent an enjoyable evening swapping stories with people, and sharing marshmallows roasted over the open flames. The time passed quickly, and he was the last one up by the fire in the end. As the night began to lose its warmth, Merlin bundled himself up and went back to his tent. Hunith was curled up already in the far corner, and he joined her on the ground, more than ready to settle down for the night.

The next morning dawned bright and hot, and Merlin sought out his sunglasses before breakfast. As he cooked himself bacon and eggs on a small, portable gas cooker, he contemplated his plan for the day ahead. He had found a relatively flat trail that he expected he could manage, and as a bonus it had a cafe at the end. He rather hoped they sold ice cream.

 

Merlin was back early that evening, his aching bones protesting at the hikes. He had started with the flat one, then decided that he felt fine and went for a more challenging one (or three). It had certainly ended up being a challenge. He was quite proud to have managed them all, truth be told. He didn't mind the aches though, he got to sit in his camp-chair and watch Hunith run around the campsite, dodging under roots and bounding through hanging branches, almost running into the toddlers pottering over the same tree roots with no co-ordination to speak of.

With athermosof tea in his withered hands, he laughed as they gripped onto Hunith's fur and used her for support, small as she was. Their parents knew Hunith didn't mind, but kept a watchful eye in case their little ones got too rough.

Later, Merlin gathered supplies from his tent for the evening ahead; marshmallows, sticks to skewer them on, kindling, firewood, blankets, cushions, folding chairs, and flasks of tea, coffee, and hot chocolate.

He set up the kindling with larger wood tented over it in the middle of the small clearing he usually used, and once dusk started to fall, people began trickling back for an evening of roasted marshmallows and stories. Bending over the wood, Merlin muttered an almost silent spell, and it caught alight. Within moments a crackling campfire was going, and a few people started picking their cushions. They knew they were welcome to help themselves to anything on offer. Merlin sank into his chair, a serene smile pulling at his lips. He closed his eyes and listened to the chattering of the other campers, the crackling of the fire, and the bubble of children laughing.

Hunith came to sit at his feet, panting happily and tail thumping against the ground. When Merlin knew darkness was finally starting to fall properly, and he opened his eyes. Almost every seat was taken; a young girl with large brown eyes, dark curly hair and dark skin sat on his left, a boy with a mop of brown hair and eyes a shade paler on his other side. Both were staring at him hopefully, waiting for the tales to begin. He gave a quiet chuckle, and as if it were a cue, people fell silent.

"Last night I spun stories of princes and dragons and castles. An old man has lived a long time, too long some say, but with a long life comes great adventure. What shall we hear tonight? How Sir Lancelot fought the Gryphon? How the Brave Knights of Camelot fought off the dragon Kilgarrah? How Merlin Emrys, the Secret Sorcerer, freed the last dragon from her egg? Or perhaps the time Prince Arthur was given donkey ears by a goblin?"

The children in the circle laughed, and clamoured to hear the last one. "Goblin's Gold it is!" Merlin exclaimed. "Has everyone got marshmallows who wants them? Is everyone sitting comfortably? Is anybody cold? Does anyone want another drink?"

"Merlin! Start the story!" Laughed the girl on his left. He grinned.

"Ok! Ok! The Goblin's Gold." He began. "In a land of myth, and a time of magic," unbeknownst to the others, his subtle gestures allowed magic to flow with the words. Simple things that could be misinterpreted as tricks of the light, but added to the atmosphere. "The destiny of a great kingdom rested on the shoulders of a young man. His name, was Merlin."

"Like your name!" blurted the boy on his right. Merlin smiled indulgently down.

"Just like my name. Merlin was the servant to a bumbling fool of a prince, but would have done anything to protect him. Prince Arthur, destined to be a great king, was oblivious to how much Merlin truly did for him, and sometimes even against him, though usually these were accidents. Like the time Merlin let a goblin loose in the castle.

"The court physician, Gaius, had sent Merlin to the castle's library for a book. This particular book happened to be on a tall shelf and poor little Merlin couldn't reach it, no matter how much he jumped. So he did what he shouldn't have done, as he had so many times before, and stood on the shelves!" He gasped dramatically. "His foot knocked over a book which turned out to be a lever that spun the shelves around, taking unlucky Merlin into a hidden room.

"It was dusty and covered in cobwebs, as if someone had forgotten to take down the Hallowe'en decorations, and there was a box in the middle of the room. It was as dusty as the rest, but from inside Merlin could hear muffled grunts." He did his best imitation. "Merlin had always been too curious for his own good, and what did he do then? Of course, he opened the box. Do you know what jumped out?" He asked, looking around with wide eyes at the enthralled children.

"A goblin!" They chorused.

"A goblin indeed! It was no bigger than little Charlie over there, but ugly, green, and with pointy ears like an elf. It jumped up out of the box, and Merlin fell backwards in surprise! It took a second to take in the room and the boy in front of it, then it said,

"BOO!" Merlin started forward for effect, the fire jumping with him, and the children shrieked and laughed.

He recounted the rest of the tale, savouring the memory of Arthur with donkey ears, and Uther's face when he and Gaius went to see what the problem was. It was one of his favourite problems to sort out; before Morgana had turned, before Gwen was Queen, before destiny had truly begun to take over. When he finished he got a round of applause, and gave his sincerest smile of the evening. He looked around the fire, took in the faces of everyone, the burnt marshmallows, the arms round shoulders, the younger ones sharing blankets. It felt comfortable, familiar, like a place he was supposed be.

Quiet chatter broke out, and parents decided it was time to put the youngest ones to bed. They complained and begged for another five minutes, but they weren't quite persuasive enough. Merlin looked to the sky, the stars shining brightly through the dense canopy, more appearing the longer he looked. It was truly dark now, but the fire prevented the entire sky being lit by the galaxy sprawling out above them.

He didn't care, it was perfect as it was. It felt familiar, comfortable, as if destiny had brought him there. He gave a soft chuckle; he believed his destiny had abandoned him a long time ago. The girl to his left and the boy to his right had gone to their tents, leaving him alone. Figures shifted in his peripheral vision, shuffling around the crackling fire, the low hum of their voices pleasant to his ears. He was warm, and stared peacefully into the flames, watching them dance before him. He whispered a spell, and sparks flew in the shape of a dozen tiny dragons. No one seemed to notice and he allowed himself a private grin.

A chill wind picked up and he shivered slightly. He drew a blanket around his shoulders to help stave it off. Someone sat down next to him, but he didn't turn around. When the person spoke however, Merlin froze.

"You know, last night I had the weirdest dream."

No, no not yet, it was too early. It had only been a year and it was definitely not time for the timings to change. He didn't want to go through this every year, and definitely not when he was in the middle of a crowd of people. Tears pricked his eyes. His heart constricted and his mind went blank. He couldn't remember what he was supposed to say, couldn't remember what was going to happen despite the sheer number of times this had happened before. His throat constricted before he could even try to give an answer.

Hunith whined at his feet and he squeezed his eyes together, begging the tears not to leak out. Not in front of a crowd. No one seemed to have acknowledged the man sitting next to him, suggesting he was in fact having another episode. And it made him angry. Had he not suffered enough? Hadn't he been through enough in the last fifteen hundred years? He rested his head in his hands, elbows on his knees.

"Why me?" He moaned to quietly for anyone to hear.

"Pardon?" Came Arthur's confused voice from beside him. And every muscle in Merlin's body tensed. That wasn't supposed to happen. No matter what he said second, either the vision froze, or Arthur always repeated the same words. He opened his eyes, the fire painfully bright after the darkness of his eyelids, but he didn't dare blink or look away. He didn't know what to say. His mind scrabbled desperately for something that wouldn't make him sound like a complete buffoon.

"Merlin? Are you alright?" Arthur asked, and he felt a hand on his shoulder. Merlin choked out a sob, unable to believe his senses. He turned his head so fast he cricked his neck. For the first time in over 1200 years, the Once and Future King didn't fade away when Merlin looked at him, his lineless face etched with concern.

"Arthur?" He choked out, tears falling freely and unnoticed down his cheeks. "Is it actually you?" He was in shock, wasn't sure he could trust his eyes. Blue eyes, dark in the shadow of the trees, so familiar and so right, twinkled back. The smile he had missed so much graced him, and Merlin's chin trembled.

"It's actually me, Merlin." Arthur said gently. Merlin clenched his jaw to stop the trembling, wiping the wetness from his cheeks.

"It's you. I mean, it's really you. You're here." He croaked. He reached out a tentative hand to touch Arthur's face, and gasped when it connected with real flesh. "Arthur!" He cried, and grabbed his best friend by his red shirt, pulling him into a bone-crushing hug.

" _Mer_ lin!" He laughed. "You absolute lunatic, what are you doing?" But he didn't sound angry at all, or even surprised, just amused. Merlin let him go, and just stared at him, hardly able to believe it. He drank in the face in front of him, hardly daring to believe it was really there in front of him.

"It's been so long. Thank you." He whispered, not taking his eyes off the other man for a single second. His insides were warm, the breeze forgotten now that he finally had his king back. The familiarity of the setting finally clicked, and he realised that for the past 1200 years or so he had been seeing this moment. It no longer mattered that only last year Arthur had died in his arms, this time he was going to stay around, stay with him for a lifetime. 

"For what?" Arthur asked, bemused.

"For coming back." Merlin answered simply with a watery smile. He felt more alive than he had in years, younger than ever. Arthur returned the smile warmly, and when Merlin next spoke his tone was soft and the words clear.

"At long last, the King has returned."

**Author's Note:**

> Most of this has been written, as it was started in 2015. I tried to get friends to beta it for me but they never got round to it, so please excuse mistakes! I've been through it too many times to see them anymore :)


End file.
